Page 59 of The Fortune Hunter’s Gamble

He felt Sophronia’s response to his nearness, the alertness that spread through her posture. The attunement of her senses to him.

“Is the Albion so attentive to all its guests, Mr. Rowden?” Lady Bessington teased. “Or is there a particular one among us you are endeavoring to impress?”

Rowden inclined his head. “I hope all our guests at the Albion find themselves attended to,” he said. “But I will admit to hoping to win your favor, Lady Bessington. We would be delighted to see more of you in our parlors.”

“And Bessington’s money at your gambling tables?” She laughed. “I admit I did not think to find the place as congenial as I have. I shall make a good report. The food does not miss the mark, and the company is delightful.”

“I presume this table is planning the future direction of the government,” Rowden remarked. “Or perhaps plotting the overthrow of France?”

“We are advising Mrs. Hinton on how to go about setting up a girls’ school,” said the Marchioness of Arendale. “Among us, we have some experience at that, and all of us have had the benefit of a superior education for women.” She cast a look of inquiry at Selene. “I think?”

Selene made a face. “I confess I never got a grasp of Greek. But I did like the courses on natural philosophy. It was like conversing with my siblings.”

Sophronia shook her head. “I should have to engage qualified teachers if I want my girls to learn Greek. My tutoring never extended to that subject.”

“Are you merely enquiring as to our comfort, Mr. Rowden, or have you come on a more specific quest?” Lady Darien wanted to know. She was a bold woman, Rowden had heard, and from the way her shrewd gaze swung from him to Sophronia, he guessed that one or the other of them had their feelings writ all over their faces, at least obvious enough for this woman to decipher.

Well, let her. Rowden wasn’t trying to hide that he wanted Sophronia.

“I admit I had a particular question for Mrs. Hinton, but I would never ask her to part from company more enjoyable than my own.”

Lady Bessington raised an eyebrow, and the Marchioness and Selene exchanged a glance. Lady Darien smirked at Sophronia. “You’ve made a conquest, Mrs. Hinton.”

“Rowden and I are old friends.” Sophronia turned to him.

The gesture brought her bosom beneath his gaze. She was wearing the gown she’d worn to the theater, cascades of white silk with accents of ponceau, a poppy-red color that somehow complemented rather than clashing with her hair. Sophronia had become dashing during her latest visit to London, and still a mystery. He could not read the expression on her face as she tilted her head to look up at him, but she had to know how delectable she looked.

“Can you pose your question here, or am I to come with you?”

“You may find me at your leisure. It is not pressing.” He curled his hands over the back of her chair, brushing his fingers lightly against her shoulder blades. She shivered at the contact.

Lady Bessington waved a gloved hand sparkling with many rings. “Go on, Mrs. Hinton. We’ve squared you on the most important business, and we can always meet again. Lord Daring is in the gaming rooms, so he can see us all home.” She winked. “Let your suitor commence with his wooing.”

“It is a family matter he wishes to discuss, I am sure. I cannot thank you all enough. You have been so kind. I shall write to Miss Gregoire, as you suggest.” Sophronia rose from her chair, a rustle of silk and loveliness.

“Give her my regards when you do,” said the Marchioness, “and tell her we might send Selene back for another year to escape all the many marriage prospects being offered her.”

“I myself counsel against marrying too young,” Sophronia said. She fell into step beside Rowden as he led her out of the elegant room. “Is it Giles?”

“He is in one of the private parlors, with my friend Foster looking after him, but he is smoking again. I don’t know where he acquires his supply.”

“Any chemist’s shop, I suppose, or hawkers in the street. Or he borrows laudanum from Aunt Dobbs, in a pinch.” She laid a hand on Rowden’s arm. “One of us must speak to him. I think he will take it better coming from you.”

“I’ve spoken to him before. He vows to reform his habits, and then does not.”

She chewed on a corner of her bottom lip. “I do not know that I have any standing with him. He will see me as another nattering aunt.”

“He believes he is in control, but he has none,” Rowden said as he took them through the gilt-lined, carpeted hallways to the men’s side of the club.

“I thought it would help to have other interests to fill his time,” Sophronia said. “He seems to have been doing better of late. Improved from when I first arrived, for a certain.”

“That is true. But I did not deprive you of your friends to question you about Giles.” He looked into a private parlor, found it deserted, and drew her inside.

Several chairs and a recamier sat in a conversational cluster, the sloped back of the sofa leading to an armrest upon which its sitter could repose. Two tall colza lamps oversaw the grouping, their wicks turned low, filling the room with their smoky fragrance. With Sophronia standing this close to him, Rowden felt he had taken a puff of Giles’s opium pipe.

She watched him with large eyes, shadows teasing across the silken skin of her face. “What would you ask me, then?” Her voice was low in the quiet room. She seemed as conscious that they were alone as he was.

That awareness of her nearness, that arousal of his senses when he simply stood in her presence raked along his skin. The world around them fell quiet, disappeared.